


The Romantic Confessions of Bossuet

by KChan88



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16014887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: Bossuet confesses his romantic struggles to Courfeyrac, who is more than glad to help. Bossuet finds himself on the end of Joly's own confession, and something new begins.Written for Bossuet week on Tumblr.





	The Romantic Confessions of Bossuet

“Joly and Musichetta have been whispering.”

Bossuet hears the scratching of Courfeyrac’s pen cease as he turns around in his chair.

“I thought you were asleep,” Courfeyrac says. “Whispering about what?”

Bossuet crosses his arms behind his head, stretched across Courfeyrac’s sofa. “Me. I think.”

Courfeyrac puts his pen down, casting one last glance at the letter on his desk, only half-written. A love letter of some kind, Bossuet knows, to his current mistress. She’s a clever, funny girl Bossuet’s met before, who seems a lot like Courfeyrac himself, really.

“You?” Courfeyrac asks, quirking one eyebrow. “Why would they whisper about you? There’s no secrets between you and Joly.”

Bossuet scans the ceiling, thinking of what he wants to say. He’s not a worrier by nature, and he usually just takes things in stride.

But this.

This has him…perplexed.

Bossuet smiles, despite the conundrum. “Not usually, no.”

Courfeyrac returns the smile—though it contains a hint of indulgence—before getting up from his chair and coming over to the sofa. He gestures at Bossuet’s feet, indicating he should move them. Bossuet complies and Courfeyrac sits down, Bossuet’s legs resting across his lap.

“I almost suspect your smile might be a frown, my friend.” Courfeyrac looks at him with a gleam of concern in his dark green eyes, marring the usual smile. “It’s not like you.”

Bossuet meets his gaze, feeling more vulnerable than he likes. “You know how I feel about Joly, Courfeyrac. Wine brought forth that confession, if you’ll recall. So I suppose there are secrets between Joly and me, after all. Because I didn’t tell him. Not exactly, anyway.”

Courfeyrac nods, tapping one finger on Bossuet’s leg. “Because you didn’t want to muddy things between him and Musichetta.”

“He’s also the closest person the world to me,” Bossuet adds, the words coming out of his mouth without his full permission.

Courfeyrac tilts his head, “You don’t usually worry so, my dear eagle. I’m sure you and Joly could recover from anything, even if your confession went ill.”

For some reason, Bossuet can’t help but laugh. “As if you would just kiss Enjolras or Combeferre without giving it a bit of thought.”

Courfeyrac leans back, looking affronted. “Combeferre has that charming intellectual look about him, and you of course have _seen_ Enjolras before, haven’t you? I might kiss either of them, how dare you suggest otherwise?”

Bossuet groans. “Courfeyrac. You’re teasing me when I’m making a rare effort to be serious.”

Courfeyrac chuckles, his brown curls bouncing up and down as he laughs. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. But…well it isn’t as if you haven’t kissed Joly before. You admitted that to me, too.”

“Yes, but we never really discussed it again.” Bossuet sighs. “He was in one of his off-again stages with Musichetta, before they sorted it out. Probably because of those leather pants Bahorel suggested.” Bossuet grins, and he almost feels better.

Almost.

“Have you ever thought…” Courfeyrac pauses, thinking. “That maybe they’re whispering for good reasons? That maybe they want some sort of arrangement with all of you?”

“How would that work?”

“I don’t claim to know,” Courfeyrac replies. “But you and Joly share everything, so it’s not insane to think you might share this, too. Besides, I’ve seen the looks Musichetta’s given you when she thinks you’re not looking.”

Bossuet jolts, sitting up and pushing Courfeyrac’s hand off his leg. “You rogue. What did I just say about teasing me?”

Courfeyrac raises his hands in the air, looking innocent. “What? I’m not joking. They _both_ look at you. You just don’t see it, but _I_ am very observant.”

Bossuet tries protesting, but a laugh cuts through, his lips tugging upward. “Courfeyrac. I’m not…I’m just me. I’m not ugly, but I’m not particular thing to look at.”

Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows. “I disagree, but that’s not the point. They clearly think you are.” His voice goes softer and more serious. “Besides, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, is it not?”

“Yes,” Bossuet whispers, a giddy anxiety flooding his chest. “I suppose it is.”

Courfeyrac takes Bossuet’s face in his hands, staring him down. “Just go kiss Joly. Then you can figure it out after that. Moping on my couch won’t solve your problems.”

Bossuet smiles, only half pretending annoyance. “A rather direct approach.”

Courfeyrac lets go, grinning and tapping the edge of Bossuet’s nose. “The only way, in this instance. Now go, you romantic bastard.”

Bossuet complies, pressing Courfeyrac’s shoulder before he goes, sliding on his coat. His hand is on the doorknob when Courfeyrac calls out, stopping him.

“Wait!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “Tell me, is Joly an excellent kisser? I’ve always suspected he might be. I’m dying to know.”

Bossuet winks. “I don’t kiss and tell. Goodbye, Courfeyrac. And thank you.”

Bossuet shuts the door before Courfeyrac can stop him, hearing the sound of a shoe thumping against the other side. Bossuet laughs, an extra bounce in his step.

He’s going home.                                                                        

* * *

 

Bossuet finds Joly at home alone.

He opens the door without knocking, that formality long ago tossed away. Joly’s sitting at the table, books and random pages of notes scattered around him. And approaching exam, no doubt. He sees Combeferre’s cramped handwriting on some of the paper, the two of them likely having studied together over the afternoon if the second cup of tea is any indication. Bossuet feels his heart go a little faster when Joly turns to greet him with a smile, noticing his friend’s freckles in the firelight more than he usually might.

“Where have you been?” Joly asks, that familiar brightness in his smile as he runs a hand through his auburn hair. “I was getting worried.”

Bossuet sits down, trying to pretend he isn’t nervous, though being nervous around Joly is odd, to say the least.

“Oh, I was just with Courfeyrac,” Bossuet says, thinking that Joly’s gaze lingers, and he seems nervous, too. “Helping him write a love letter to that mistress of his.”

“Really?” Joly reaches for Bossuet’s hand, making a show of examining a small cut on his forefinger. “Did you give him some delightfully romantic advice?”

Bossuet meets Joly’s eyes, thinking he sees a bit of a blush overtaking his cheeks, and that gives him an odd confidence.

“He gave me a bit, actually.” Bossuet holds Joly’s gaze, the entire plan he came up with on the walk over fading utterly from his mind. He had planned to say things. To talk. To not be quite as immediately direct as Courfeyrac had suggested.

Now, it’s all that’s left.

He leans forward, kissing Joly, who starts in surprise. Bossuet pulls back, an apology spilling forth.

“I’m sorry, oh god I…Courfeyrac told me to be direct, but I know you’re with Musichetta and he’s probably read too many romance novels and I…”

Joly presses his lips to Bossuet’s, cutting off the stream of words. Bossuet puts a hand on Joly’s cheek, all thought melting away as he loosens his cravat with his free hand. They break apart, breathless, and Joly starts laughing, the sound bubbling up like a fountain of joy.

“Oh, I was so nervous!” Joly exclaims, putting a hand to his chest and laughing harder. “Oh, goodness.”

“ _You_ were?” Bossuet argues, the laughter contagious. “You and Musichetta have been whispering. _I_ was nervous!”

“I’m a frightful secret-keeper, aside from of course, the true aims of our revolutionary society.” Joly winks at him. “So I’m sorry if we frightened you but…” Joly blushes again, a deep red flooding his cheeks. “Well, we were talking about you, but only how we both…well how we both want you…we want all three of us, together.  If you…well if you’re amenable, of course.”

Joly smiles hopefully at him, and Bossuet thinks he probably shouldn’t be so hopelessly in love, but there’s nothing he can do about it, anyway.

“You may take that kiss as my answer.” Bossuet takes Joly’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “I shall just have to seal it with Musichetta as well. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“She certainly will not.” Joly grins. “We were actually going to speak to you tonight, when she comes by. But you uh…accelerated the process a bit. I think she won’t mind if you kiss me a bit more, until she arrives.”

Bossuet complies.

 


End file.
